The Past Can Never Be Forgotten
by Dex1
Summary: AU - Someone from Angel's past reemerges and causes him to reexamine, remember, and reorder his life.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns everything worth owning. I have nothing, or very little anyway.

Sunnydale, California 1998

_Too Late._ Willow must have performed the curse. It worked. He was back. She stared into his eyes and saw the lover she thought she had lost forever. She stared and she cried, and she did all she could to block out the swirling luminescence of the air behind him, the portal to Hell that threatened to swallow them all. He was back, but it was too late.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his trying to relive every moment, every touch. She kissed him like it was the first time, knowing full well that it would likely be the last. "I love you."

Tears were in his eyes now as well. "I love you."

"Close your eyes." She couldn't stand for him to watch, see her drive the blade through him and into the demonic statue at his back. It had to be done. He would understand. Everyone would understand. The sword cut into him and the swirling of the air stopped. There was light, there was pain, and then there was nothing. He was back, now he was gone.

New York City, New York – 18 months later

"Gibb?! Gibb! You are never gonna believe what happened at school!" Tessa Sullivan hurriedly entered the cramped apartment and searched for a place to set her backpack amongst the piles of books. The apartment, which she had called home for nearly the last six years, belonged to Anthony Gibb, librarian extraordinaire at PS-119 and guardian to the precocious 12-year-old now hopping over papers and open faced books to try and find him.

"Gibb?" She stopped at the end of the hall, the end of the little apartment, and stood confused. "Where are you?" She glanced around. The door to the bathroom was open; no one inside. The bedroom door was open as well, jammed up against the wall by a pile of schoolbooks and a basket of laundry, both of which were put there several days before in the hope that she would take them into the room and put them away. Gibb was not much of a housekeeper, nor was Tessa, so their home sweet home often looked more like a ransacked library. Her guardian had a passion for books, first edition novels from the 17th and 18th centuries, most vary rare, were his prized personal possessions and so remained safely tucked away in the corner bookcase. Other books, however, ones he had collected for his "work" lay in somewhat organized piles. Theories on dimensional shifts, time travel, wormholes, and portals, basically anything relying on physics and mathematics, sat along the far wall of the main room. Ghosts, spirits, poltergeist, and doppelgangers were to the right of the front door stacked nearly to the ceiling. Basic fundamental religious beliefs and phenomena were piled to the left of the door, and texts on various demons ran the length of the hallway. Only the kitchen was left relatively uncluttered so as to serve as a workspace. But today Gibb was not leaning over his copy of the Maleus Malefacarem, or any other book. He was not searching for borrowed texts in Tessa's room, nor was he hanging out in the bathroom. He wasn't taking a bit of tea out on the fire escape. And Tessa had already checked the library before leaving school, he wasn't there either.

She walked over to her bed and sat on the edge contemplating her options. She couldn't call him because he doesn't believe in cell phones and therefore refuses to own one. She could head down the coffee shop at the corner and see if he's there, but being almost 5 o'clock in the dead of winter it was nearly dark already and Gibb didn't want her out after dark. She could call the school, but they probably hadn't seen him either. Too much thinking only left one option. She turned on the TV and just decided to wait.

London, England – the next day

"What is the rush, Geoffrey? It had better be important, I was preparing to leave on holiday."

The old wood floor creaked under the weight of the husky Englishman who rose from his desk to greet his old friend. "It is terribly important I'm afraid," he said and gestured for the other man to have a seat. "There has been a terrible tragedy."

"Again? Well, it hardly seems as though the council gets together anymore unless 'terrible tragedies' occur. And who is it this time?"

"A friend."

"So I had gathered. My God, it isn't Rupert is it? I know he has been coming up against quite a lot since Angelus' return."

Geoffrey paused, gazing at the floor. Without looking up he utters almost to himself, "It's your brother."

At that the man sunk into the crushed velvet couch, but his face betrayed nothing, no pain, no sadness, nothing. "What about the girl?"

"She is 'in the system' as they say. Foster care. I spoke with the New York authorities only briefly, but they say that they can not release into anyone's custody without some sort of court procedure unless they are a blood relative."

"Wonderful."

"Gilbert, none of us can go and petition for custody, we are not American citizens. But I still think you need to be there, if for no other reason than to bring you brother back home."

"Yes, yes, I should." Gilbert Gibb exhaled slowly and glanced around the room as though trying to get his bearings. "What exactly happened?"

"He was shot. During a robbery. At a coffee shop." The sound of a rich hearty laugh causes Geoffrey to look up. "Gilbert?"

"What I the world was he doing at a coffee shop?" By now the man on the couch can barely contain himself as his laughter echoes off the stark walls. "He never drank coffee a day in his life!"

"I know it seems odd. Shot to death in a robbery after surviving all he's been through."

"My God, he slew a Phisia Demon once, single-handedly!"

"Yes."

"A coffee shop?!"

"Gilbert you must get control of yourself."

"Oh please, Geoffrey, my brother is dead, at least allow me a few moment of inappropriately insane laughter." Neither said a word as the laughter began to die down. Eventually silence filled the room once again.

"He was an excellent watcher.'

"His slayer died years ago. He hasn't been a watcher in six years. A librarian. He was an excellent librarian."

"Yes, yes, quite."

Silence.

"Well, I suppose I should cancel my trip to Rome. Off to New York then. New York. I always did despise that place."

New York City, New York – 2 weeks later

"Yes, I understand that I'm not a citizen, but you can't just send her to live with strangers."

"Mr. Gibb," began the tired looking woman behind the desk, "are you a blood relative?"

"No, I've already said that. But my brother was her guardian for six years. He'd been with her for her whole life. For all intents and purposes, she was his daughter, at the very least a dear niece."

"But she's not his daughter, or his niece, or yours for that matter. He never formally adopted her. Really, since he only had residential status he shouldn't have gotten her at all, but the system is so flooded with children..."

"And it still is, which is why you should allow me to take her."

_Slurp. Slurp._ The woman obviously did not know how to drink tea or coffee or whatever it was she so obnoxiously slurped down. This was just one of many reasons Gilbert wanted nothing more than to return to his private overly privileged lifestyle back in London. To go home where strange woman in mismatched socks don't slurp their drink in offices reeking of rat poison. Where he didn't have to walk amongst people on the street lined up and pushing on like cattle to the slaughter. Where the bed doesn't sting from starched sheets too many times bleached and the carpet doesn't feel like Astroturf under bare feet. How he hated hotels. How he hated New York. How he hated America. "Would you be willing to relocate here?"

"Here?" _How could someone even think such a thing?_ "You want me to move here?"

"Well, Theresa is part of the US foster system now. We can't just let her leave, or be taken to another country."

"I don't see why not. One less little ruffian for you to worry about."

"Mr. Gibb—"

"She is a very important child. Special." The social worker gives him an odd stare. "Special and important to my brother that is. And therefore to me."

She turns toward her desk, seemingly unfazed, certainly unimpressed by Gilbert's pleas, and begins to shuffle around some papers. "Were you close to the child's mother?"

"Never met her. Why, what are you implying?" he asks slyly.

"I wasn't implying anything, Mr. Gibb."

"Right, of course."

"But that proves you know nothing of her wishes."

"She _wished_ my brother would care for her child."

"But beyond that..."

"Well, Ms. Williams..."

"Wilkins."

"I don't think she really ever thought that Anthony would be killed in a coffee shop before the girl was grown. A coffee shop!"

"I understand, Mr. Gibb."

"No, I don't believe you do. He never drank coffee."

Again the strange stare comes over the woman's face as she quickly attempts to move on. "There's no record of the child's father, do you know who he was."

_So complicated,_ he thought to himself. Of course he knew. Everyone at the council knew. A select few others knew as well, like Natalie, Gibb's slayer and Tessa's "mother". And her friend, if you could call him that....of course! "Her father? Well, yes I know who he is. Don't know how you'll find him though. He was in California last I heard."

"Does he have a name?"

"Of course he has a name. Angel."


	2. chap2

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns everything worth owning. I have nothing, or very little anyway.

The rough bed sheets felt like sand against his legs and he couldn't help but wince throughout his entire phone conversation with Geoffrey. "It's better this way, I think."

"Better!" Geoffrey screamed through the receiver, "how could this possibly be better?!"

"Well he can take her in without dealing with all the red tape I'd have to. And of course he already lives here which makes that easier on the girl."

"You nincompoop! He doesn't even exist!"

"Well, that's just silly, just because you haven't met the man..."

"He's not a man!"

"He has a body, he has a soul, and he has a name of sorts."

"But no social security number, no birth certificate, no real identity. They'll never even be able to find him let alone allow him to take her in."

"I gave them Rupert's number, he should know how to contact him. And in the mean time I thought you could phone that fellow Whistler who seemed to know so much about Angel. Being a demon and all whose wandered the earth for many centuries and never even had a job, I imagine he might know someone who can make up some false documents for the man...vampire."

"This is utter madness."

"She needs to stay where we can watch her, no? Well, they won't let me or anyone else take her out of the country, even if I were a blood relative, too much red tape. Technically she isn't supposed to leave the state, but we don't know anyone in New York who can help us and they said that a blood relative can claim her from any state."

"You just don't want to move to New York."

"I will not deny that, but even so...she doesn't know me. Him, she probably remembers, at least somewhat. And he already knows the truth and can be trusted with it."

"You are talking about someone who just recently returned from what seemed to be an eternity in Hell after losing his soul and going on a murdering rampage that culminated in his trying to end the world!"

"Yes, but he never divulged her secret."

Only breathing could be heard on Gilbert's end as Geoffrey thought, presumably, about either killing Gilbert and making it look like an accident or whether or not this ludicrous idea could actually work. "What if they insist on doing a blood test to determine parentage?"

"They won't. Too expensive."

"What if Angel refuses?"

"Someone, I suppose, will have to talk him into it."

Los Angeles, California – 1 week later

An old store front made into a small office complete with a dark, though not entirely dank, basement for keeping out of the sun, not exactly the best environment for a 12-year-old girl to live in, but not the worst either. She was at least somewhat used to different ways of living though. Growing up with a vampire slayer as a mother, and a watcher as a sort of surrogate father with do that. The people in her life kept strange hours, read strange books, went strange places, and fought strange looking things with strange sorts of weapons. She was taught at an early age how to defend herself, in little ways like never inviting strangers in no matter what, and bigger ways like decapitating creatures with her mother's ax. Growing up with Gibb also meant that she was more than well informed about all things spiritual, magical, mystical, and demonic. Few girls her age could identify a Grusselor Demon simply by smell, they have a very distinct odor, which may be why she had so few friends. As Gibb, the classic recluse, said, when you live among superheroes, the everyday becomes rather unapproachable. But this place still needed some work.

Geoffrey hadn't seen Tessa since she was a baby, and only got reports on her maybe once or twice a year from Gibb. Angel he had only met once and that too was many years ago, so he felt less than qualified to be doing this, but waiting in the dark office of Angel Investigations he realized it was too late for second thoughts now.

"I'm sure he won't be much longer." An attractive brunette smiled at him from behind the desk, a look of quiet desperation on her face. Clearly they weren't getting many clients these days. He wondered how disappointed she'd be when she found out he wasn't one either. "Oh, here he is now," she said as the door opened and a sleepy Angel popped his head out. "Angel," she continued while dragging him by the arm out of the little office he had been in, "this is Mr. Cruppler. He'd like to speak with you about...I don't know, something. Mr. Cruppler, are you sure I can't get you any coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Okay then, I'll just leave you two alone to talk business." As she turned to leave Geoffrey could have sworn he heard her whisper something to Angel similar to _Nice suit, nice shoes, don't scare away the money._

"Mr. Cruppler, Geoffrey, right?"

"And here I thought you wouldn't remember."

"I never forget a pretentious Englishman with a mission. At least not one who works for the Watchers Council."

"I don't actually work for the –"

"Right, right, you _are_ the council. Whatever. Please, sit."

LA was unusually warm for this time of year, hot actually, and the cheap naugahide of the chair felt sticky even through his _nice suit._ "I'll be blunt, Anthony is dead."

"That's too bad. Who's Anthony?"

"Anthony Gibb."

"What happened?" he asked calmly, though his mind was racing, reliving his times with Gibb, some of the only times he felt moderately content prior to Buffy. Gibb and Nat both made him feel welcome, much more than that, they made him feel almost human.

"Shot in a robbery. Terrible tragedy."

"So it wasn't...nothing to do with...you know..."

"Vampires? Demons? The otherwise occult? No, no, nothing like that."

"Oh. Then why are you here?"

"We need you to take the girl."

"The girl?"

"The child."

"The child?"

"For pity's sake man! The daughter of you-know-who?"

Recognition flashed over his face. Of course, how could he have forgotten about her, blocked her out entirely? "Tessa."

"Yes, yes, Tessa. After Natalia's death custody was given to Gibb. Now with him gone...well someone needs to take her in. Someone who knows. Someone who can protect her."

"Someone like a council member."

"They won't let her leave the country, the state even, with someone who is not a blood relative. You do remember whose name is on her birth certificate do you not?"

_Liam Angel._ Not exactly a legal name, or a real one for that matter, but it's what they came up with in a hurry. "He doesn't even exist. It's just a name."

"Now it's a name complete with a social security number, birth certificate, and drivers license. Now all we need is your new address. Please God, tell me it's not here."

"Listen, I'm sure this all seems like a good idea, but I'm telling you, it's not. I can't have a kid here."

"You do live here? Oh God! Well, it's no matter. She lived with Gibb for many years and his flat I imagine was far worse than this."

"You're not hearing me."

"Angel, you have no choice."

"I have no choice?!"

"No. She needs you. And we need her. You know how important it is that she be kept safe, secret."

"No."

"For just a bit then, until we can work out some sort of other arangements. Assert your parental rights, gain custody, and then you can send her to school abroad so we can take over her care."

"So I just have to go to court or something?"

"She may have to stay with you for a very short period of time, so that they can see you are fit to be a father."

"Father."

"Well, I should be off, plane to catch and all. I'll have an attorney take of all the paper work. Naturally there will be a visit of some sort to make sure this place is habitable, so do something to make it so please. My guess, she should be here within a week. Lovely seeing you again." And with that the Englishman rose and left.

Angel, on the other hand, remained firmly planted to his seat, still in a state of shock. He hadn't really forgotten about the little girl whose father he claimed to be, he just put her out of his mind. And don't think that was an easy task. He spent years trying to forget the joy in her big blue eyes when he bought her that Cookie Monster doll. He did all he could to block out the sound of her little voice, her baby giggles, the feel of her strawberry locks between his fingers, the look she gave him when he told her he was leaving. For the first six years of her life he had been the closest thing to a father she had. But that was then.


	3. chap3

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns everything worth owning. I have nothing, or very little anyway.

Just as Geoffrey had predicted, the preparations took only a week. Naturally, he had rushed it all and though Angel was told it would be soon, he was not yet ready. Now he faced the most difficult challenge, second maybe to actually seeing Tessa again, a prospect he chose not to even acknowledge yet. Right now, he had to explain this to his friends.

"You can't have a kid, Angel. You're a vampire."

"Yeah, I'm kind of aware of that Cordelia. She's not my kid."

"Then whose is she?" Doyle asked, shifting in his seat.

"That's not the point. Look, she's going to stay here for a while is all."

"Oh yeah, a while, no biggie. I mean she's just a kid who clearly has some kind of special thing about her and is going to be living here where we like work and we don't know anything about her or..."

"Jesus, Cordelia, take a breath," interrupted Doyle. "What she's saying is...who is this kid?"

"I knew her mother, in New York, a couple of years before coming to LA."

Cordelia's face broke into an awkward smile. "Was she by chance a petite blond?"

"Not petite really, average height."

"And you were...involved?"

"We...no, not really...it doesn't matter."

"And this girl was _special_?" asked Doyle.

"What, like retarded?" Both men gave her a disappointed look and moved on.

"She was a slayer."

"Oh well of course she was!"

"So you think the kid will be too?"

"It's not that simple. It's..."

A knock at the door interrupted them and a woman entered with a young brunette who looked to be about 11 or 12. All eyes were on them as they entered and no one moved.

"Um, excuse me? Is one of you Mr. Angel?" asked the woman, presumably a social worker.

It took a moment for everyone to realize she had spoken. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Angel. Mr. Angel. Liam Angel."

"I'm Chelsea Mayor, Division of Family Services. Ms. Charles is taking a personal day so she asked me to drop off Theresa."

"Tessa," corrected the girl.

"Yes, well, here she is. Most of her things should arrive in a few days." Silence. No one moved. No one spoke. "Right, um, okay. Ms. Charles said she checked everything out already, so I guess I'm not really needed here. So, I'll be going. Theresa has my number in case there are any problems and you can't get a hold of anyone else."

"Um," Angel started to say something, though he didn't know what, but she was already moving out the door.

Thank God for Cordy, ever talkative Cordy, who couldn't spend more than 30 seconds in an awkward silence if her life depended on it. "How old are you, Tessa? It was Tessa, right? I'm Cordy by the way, Cordelia, but you know. Well obviously since you're Tessa not Theresa. Obviously you get it I mean."

"Twelve," she said, cutting Cordy off before she rambled any more.

"Ugh, terrible age, all awkward and ugly. Not for me of course, or you...I mean you're neither awkward nor ugly."

This time Angel interrupted. "Maybe you'd like to see your room." They all headed downstairs and the musty smell hit Tessa like a ton of bricks. _Gibb_. The staleness and lack of fresh air reeked of him, the man who would refuse to open a window even on the nicest day of the year. He spent so much time inside, either at his little apartment or in the equally stale school library, that he would carry the scent of the indoors around with him. This place, dark, dank, vapid, it was perfect.

Angel led them over to the corner of the main and only real room. He had it sectioned off with a hanging blanket on one side and an old wicker screen on the other. "You know this isn't actually a room, right?" Cordy said with her usual hint if disgust. "False advertising."

"I know, but there isn't a whole lot I can I do about it right now," he replied to her. Turning to Tessa he added, "I only had a few days. We can figure something else out later. But look," he smiled and indicated the curtain and divider, "privacy. Nice, huh?"

Tessa sat down on the bed, which had been Angel's just this morning, and looked around. "Nice," she said sullenly.

"Are you hungry? I haven't actually been shopping and there isn't much here, but..."

"No."

"No. Not hungry. Okay. Do you want to watch TV? I have one."

"No."

"Okay."

"Do you want us to leave you the Hell alone?" Doyle asked irritated and impatient with Angel's niceties. She didn't respond, just looked down and slowly shook her head yes.


	4. chap4

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns everything worth owning. I have nothing, or very little anyway.

Two weeks had passed since Tessa had moved in and not much had changed. The gang went about their detective duties mostly as usual, just with the strange feeling they were being watched, closely observed, which of course they were by the little nearly mute girl in the corner who pretended read all day. Cordy did some grocery shopping since she knew Angel would have no idea what to get a non-blood drinker, and Doyle went about filing the papers to have her enrolled in school. Now it was the first day and since her "father" had a little problem with going out in the daytime and Cordy was off at an audition, Doyle was given the responsibility of making sure she got there on time and in one piece.

"You got everything you need?" Angel asked as they headed for the door.

"Yeah."

"Enough pencils, pens, paper?"

"Yeah."

"Your books?"

"Angel! She has everything she needs. Can we go now?"

"Yeah," Angel responded, a little taken aback by his impatience.

The drive was quiet and long. Since Doyle wasn't usually up at the ungodly hour of 7:30, he had forgotten just how bad traffic was this time of day in LA. It didn't help that this kid barely talked. He liked uncomfortable silences even less than Cordy and was only able to bear them by drinking, that being his method of dealing with just about everything, but naturally Angel wouldn't let him drive Tessa around with a bottle of booze rolling along the floorboards.

"So school, huh. Never liked it much myself. Never very good at it." If she had been listening at all he certainly couldn't tell, she wasn't even looking at him, just staring out the window. "You like it?"

"School?"

"Yeah, school."

She gave a shrug for an answer.

"You good at it?"

"Sometimes."

"What's your favorite subject?"

Another shrug.

"I hated arithmetic."

"Math."

"What? Yeah, whatever. You like it?"

"No."

"You like literature. You're always reading."

"Yeah."

"Course I guess there's not exactly a big call for demonology texts in public schools these days, huh?"

"Hmm."

"I liked, what's his name...Twain, yeah, Tom Sawyer and the other one. Great American novel. Only American novel I read."

"Shocking."

"Funny, you're funny."

"Thanks."

"Can I ask you something? You ever put more than two words together at a time?"

"No," she replied, but as he looked over at her Doyle saw something he had never seen before, a smile on the girl's face.


	5. chap5

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns everything worth owning. I have nothing, or very little anyway.

"I know the place is, well, the same, but business has been kind of slow and I just haven't had a lot of time to look around."

"I understand," the social worker replied. She really couldn't care less about the accommodations, this child had been going to school, she was well fed and clearly not beaten, that was all that mattered.

"Actually," Angel continued, "I was thinking of maybe looking into a boarding school abroad."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, she...we have family there...in England that is, and Ireland sort of. I've heard there are some nice schools there though."

"I'm sure there are. Of course you should wait until Mr. Gibb's estate has been entirely settled so that the court recognizes your full custody."

"Right, right, of course. How long should that take you think? I mean it's already been four months."

"Sometimes these things take time, especially since he had family and friends spread out across the globe. Anyway, things look all right here. As usual, give me a call if you need anything."

"Yeah, thanks."

The woman nodded at Doyle who was leaning in the doorframe as she passed. He nodded back politely and watched her leave before turning on Angel. "Boarding school?! Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to send her away?"

"No, Doyle, I'm going to raise her here, in a cave, all alone."

"You're not alone."

"Look, you and Cordy have been great, but you're not her parents, neither am I."

"But she'll find parents at a stuffy old boarding school."

"You don't know that it's stuffy."

"They all are."

"They are not, some are....the point is that she'd be better off, happier, more...well-adjusted."

"How would you know what would make her happy? You barely notice she's here. In four months you've hardly even spoken to her."

"It's not your business Doyle," Angel said pointedly and pushed past him into the office area.

"The Hell it's not," he responded hot on his heels.

Cordy and Tessa were sitting at the front desk typing up invoices, most of the stuff involving money was left up to the "tiny genius" as Cordy had called her after she was moved up to the high school for her math classes. Since Cordelia had taken it upon herself to train her in the ways of high fashion, high esteem, and high maintenance lifestyles, Tessa only thought it fair to pay her back by teaching her the new accounting program they just bought. After two days in front of the computer Cordy was finally starting to catch on, but the lesson was quickly halted when the two men stormed in.

"You haven't even given it a chance, this whole thing. You just have it in your head that it can't work..."

"It can't," Angel interrupted angrily.

"What can't?" asked Cordelia.

Doyle was the first to respond, clearly overlooking the fact that Tessa was in the room and listening to every word. "He wants to send her away."

"Who?"

"Tessa! He wants to send her away to some awful, gloomy boarding school."

"Why do you always assume everything will be so stuffy and gloomy?" asked Angel while Cordy looked on in confusion.

"Because it's England."

"Wait," she interrupted, "Tessa's going to boarding school? In England?"

"It's just something I'm considering."

"Tessie," Doyle began, "do you want to go away?"

"Doyle." Cordy attempted to caution him, she knew it wasn't a good idea to discuss this in front of Tessa, let alone pull her into the argument. She was only now beginning to open up at all, and was still very fragile.

"Do you?" he pressed on.

She sat quietly looking from Doyle to Cordy to Angel. Her eyes stayed on Angel for a moment as though he would give her the correct answer, guide her, tell her somehow what she needed to say. But that was the old Angel, the one she used to know, used to trust. This one just looked away.

"She'd be better off," he said to no one in particular as he began to leave the room. "She'd be better off."

The three were left in silence, unmoving for what seemed like an eternity until Doyle grabbed his coat and stalked out mumbling something about a cold dead heart. Cordy put her hand on Tessa's to comfort her, but the girl just pulled away and began typing again, entering numbers into the system and explaining everything as she went along.

Doyle didn't come back that night and Cordy left right after the final invoice had printed, so Tessa went about her homework and tried to forget about all that had happened. She had been doing a lot of that lately, pretending Gibb had never died, pretending this move from New York was only temporary, pretending she wasn't about to fail home economics. Too much pretending. She didn't really even care if Angel sent her away, by now she knew that nothing was ever permanent anyway.

"Hey," he thoughts were interrupted by the tall vampire who came and sat at the foot of her bed. "Did you eat anything?"

"No."

"Hungry?"

"Not really."

"You should eat something."

Tessa sat up and closed her English book. "What happened to you?"

"What?" He wasn't sure what to say. For that matter he wasn't sure what she was asking.

"You used to be...I don't know...I guess it was a long time ago."

"Yeah, it was."

"But you were..."

"People change."

"Yeah."

"You changed."

"Yeah, well I was like six."

"Your hair got darker."

"Yours got spikier."

"You talk a lot better. I bet you even say spaghetti now."

"Not yet, but I'm working on it."

He smirked a little remembering how even as a very small child she made him laugh with her smart-ass remarks. When she was three he tried to teach her how to tie her shoes using the bunny through the hole method. She suggested the rabbit simply stay at home and she'd use Velcro. Of course she'd changed, it had been so long, she grew up, at least somewhat. He had spent all those years trying to forget about her and now that she was here in front of him he realized that he truly had forgotten. He ran his hand through her hair and tried to picture himself doing it ten years ago with her tiny form snuggled in his lap. But all he could see was Nat's body, Tessa crying, the alley where he went when all was lost. Isn't that just the way? He thinks of his family and sees them murdered, not smiling happily around a roaring fire. He thinks of Buffy and sees her crying over him, about him, not talking about how much she loves him. He thinks of Tessa and sees only a sad little girl whose mother was dead because of him, not the outgoing kid who always met him with wide open arms.

"I went to Hell," he finally said.

"Hell?"

"A Hell dimension. I was there a long time. It sort of changed things. Becoming Angelus again changed things."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that."

"You did?"

"Kinda big news in the slayer/watcher community. But you're back now."

"But different. Time, ya know, it..."

"It wounds all heals?"

"Something like that."

Slowly, the memories were returning, the dam breaking and good images, the kind you force yourself to repress because they somehow hurt more than the bad, came flooding through. Her hair felt like her hair. She smelled like she smelled. She was the same little girl he once loved like a daughter.

"I'm a vampire."

She looked at him like he was crazy. "I know that."

"I can't go out in the daylight."

She sat staring at him like he was a clean-shaven monkey in overalls.

"If you play sports I can't go to the games."

"Unless they're indoors or at night."

"If you get hurt, I might not be able to get to you, help you."

"You would think that being around as long as you have you wouldn't be so afraid of everything. I mean I'm only 12, almost 13, and even I know that none of us have any control over anything and it's pretty pointless to sit around and worry all the time about stuff you have no control over."

Part of him sat in wonder at this young girl, wise beyond her years, and part of him simply saw her as the same child he remembered, one who at the age of six may have said the exact same thing, just not as articulately. "You wanna stay?"

"I don't know."

"It's up to you."

She watched her feet as they shuffled back and forth making a whooshing sound on the bedspread. "I guess I'd miss Cordy, definitely Doyle."

"Ah, Doyle."

"Don't say it like that. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything."

"Good, because I think he's a little old for you."

"You're one to talk. How old was the slayer in Sunnydale?"

"How do you know all this?"

"I guess I was just interested in your life, or whatever. Just cause you left doesn't mean I stopped caring."

Again, her gaze shifted uncomfortably to her feet. She may not have stopped caring, but it must have at least seemed like he had. No contact. No checking up. No nothing. "Do you remember what I said to you, the day I left?"

"Yeah."

"What'd I say?"

"That you just had to go and someday I'd understand."

"What else?"

"That I'd probably never see you again."

"And?"

"And that you loved me, and always would."

"Yeah," he said sullenly. "I guess I haven't really acted like that was very true lately."

"You make sure I catch the bus every morning. And you constantly nag me about eating."

"You're too skinny."

"See."

He laughed a bit and pulled her in for a hug, the first they had shared in many years. It felt right, comfortable, like snuggling up in an old sweater you've had forever. He lightly kissed the top of her head and said, "I think you should stay."


End file.
